


Roll Another Number

by goldstandard



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, Weed, instead it turned a bit angsty, post s01e10, this was supposed to be light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/pseuds/goldstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme prompt:</p><p>In college Matt was actually a huge pothead. He's not big drinker, hates crowded parties, but just chillin with some friends and smoking a bowl is a great way to take the edge off his senses. Too bad his roommate (who seems like he'd be a total stoner) is hella straight edge...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll Another Number

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the kinkmeme prompt:
> 
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=4716744#cmt4716744
> 
> Not beta'ed so all mistakes are mine. (Sorry for any weird tense changes - I'm working on it!)
> 
> Enjoy!

This is college. Matt shouldn’t be too worried about doing this. It’s college and he knows for a fact that five other students in the dorm are smoking weed at this very second so it’s fine. He’s fine.

Foggy is at his Punjabi class, the last one of the day for him, so Matt has the room to himself for at least another hour. He’s used to hiding his smoking habit – first, living at a catholic orphanage, and then his roommates through undergrad. None of them were particularly opposed (except for Jason but he doesn’t like to think about Jason) but none wanted the smell permeating into everything. Which, Matt is cool with. He’s a cool guy.

Settling at the small desk by the window, Matt pulls out his pipe, lighter, grinder, and glass jar of weed from the bottom drawer. He gets busy packing the bowl and then leans over to open the window halfway.

Foggy and Matt have only been sharing the room for two weeks now and they’ve gotten on pretty famously. While Matt isn’t necessarily hiding the weed from Foggy he isn’t exactly shouting from the rooftops what he does. It is still illegal after all.

Matt lights the bowl, inhales, releases the choke, inhales some more and then holds. He used to count seconds, how long he could hold before his lungs were bursting and his throat was burning to the point of coughs and tears. Now, he knows the feeling, the exact moment he needs to release. Matt breathes out, a steady stream of smoke billowing out towards the window.

He repeats the process until the bowl is ash and becomes disgusting on his tongue. He cleans up, places everything neatly back in the drawer, and then moves to lie down on his bed.

He’s dazed and pretty sure he’s only been lying down for five minutes when Foggy pushes the door open. Matt can feel the anxiety and frustration coming off Foggy in waves. He props himself up on his arms to face Foggy’s general direction.

“You’re back early.”

“Some douchebag pulled the fire alarm as a prank so class got cancelled.”

Foggy throws his bag down on his bed, kicks his shoes off into some unknown corner, and sits down with a huff. Matt lays back down and closes his eyes. He hears Foggy sniff and then his heartbeat is speeding up.

“Do you smell something weird?”

Matt half shrugs.

“It’s my weed – sorry, I thought you were going to be gone for a little while longer. Should air out in a bit,” he easily replies, hand lazily motioning towards the open window.

Foggy chokes on his own spit.

“ _You_ smoke weed? You smoke _weed_?”

Matt shrugs again and listens to Foggy’s hands gripping tight onto the bedspread.

“It helps me calm down. Helps me eat.” That’s the simple version, the version people get when they ask him.

“Oh, could you…” Foggy trails off and Matt turns his head in the direction. Foggy is nervous. “Could you not smoke it in the room, please?”

“Your name is Foggy,” is Matt’s rebuttal and after it’s out he realizes how dumb and out of context that sounds.

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean, your nickname is Foggy. Do you not smoke?”

Foggy lets out a strangled laugh and shakes his head.

“The nickname is from my snoring – like a foghorn – not because I’m some pothead.”

Matt nods and that makes sense. Matt still isn’t used to the loud snoring that occupies their room every single night. The first week he was pretty sure he was going to strangle Foggy in his sleep.

“Sorry, man,” Matt says as he hears his stomach rumble. “I won’t anymore, promise.”

Foggy nods as Matt literally rolls off the bed and onto his hands and knees onto the floor. The weed makes him a little less everything, a little less coordinated, a little less overwhelmed. He enjoys the feeling, the floating, the not having to listen to someone two floors up masturbate.

Things go back to normal, the room eases back into a relaxed state, and Matt happily listens to the new Star Trek movie Foggy is playing on his laptop while he munches on Shreddies.

~

After that day, Matt sticks to joints. He keeps his promise and never smokes again in the dorm room. He doesn’t even bring his weed out when Foggy is there. Joints are easy and quick to roll and extremely easy to transport. Matt finds a fairly unused path two buildings down from the dorm so it seems to work out for everyone involved.

Foggy and Matt are stumbling back to the dorm after some mixer party one night. They’d both had a fair bit to drink, Foggy more so than Matt. They almost pass by Matt’s smoking spot when he pauses.

“You go ahead, I’m just gonna stop for a smoke.”

Foggy tilts his head at Matt, still attached at the arm and leaning fairly heavily onto him.

“Smoke? Here?”

Matt laughs and shoves Foggy a bit but when Foggy wants to cling he clings.

“Yeah, just down here – nobody really goes down there. Nice place to smoke.”

Foggy frowns.

“I’ll wait.”

“You’ll wait?” Matt echoes and Foggy just shrugs. “Alright, wait here.” Matt goes to turn down the little path but Foggy doesn’t let go and instead just stumbles down the sidewalk with him.

Matt finally manages to deposit Foggy against the building wall so he can pull out the metal case from inside his jacket pocket. The case is meant for cigarettes but works perfectly for his needs.

He’s halfway through a joint when he starts to feel Foggy’s eyes on him, silently watching. His heartbeat is fairly normal, if not a bit jittery, but Matt attributes that to the alcohol.

“Can I?” Foggy asks tentatively, quiet even for Matt.

Matt coughs on the smoke in his lungs and the surprise at Foggy’s words.

“Seriously?”

Foggy gives a small, shy, nod and holds out a hand. Matt pauses but Foggy is an adult and can make his own decisions so he hands it over. Foggy takes a small puff and lets the smoke out almost immediately – Matt is pretty sure the smoke didn’t even make it past Foggy’s tongue.

“You need to hold the smoke in your lungs, it’s not like a cigarette,” Matt says kindly, not wanting to spook Foggy off with any kind of judgment.

Foggy nods, concentrating as if this is the world’s hardest test, and then takes another inhale off the joint. He holds his breath for about five seconds and then he’s coughing violently and Matt pulls the joint from his hand so Foggy doesn’t accidentally burn himself. Matt rubs Foggy’s back as Foggy bends over, still coughing and Matt worries for a brief moment Foggy might throw up.

Foggy doesn’t but when he stands up straight Matt can smell the tear tracks on his reddened face.

“What the fuck, man,” Foggy manages through a couple more coughs and a hoarse voice. “My throat is burning.”

“Sorry, it takes some getting used to.”

Matt remembers the first time he ever smoked – it was also from a joint and he actually had thrown up.

“I’ll say,” Foggy mutters, rubbing at his cheeks to get rid of the tears.

They don’t say much else until they're back in their room.

“I feel a little lightheaded,” Foggy mentions. “And I don’t think it’s from the alcohol.”

Matt shoots a wry smile.

“No, probably not.”

Matt feels like he’s floating a few inches off the ground, like he could fly up into the sky at a moments notice. He also feels very sleepy, and hungry.

“Pizza?” Foggy asks and Matt just nods. They have a couple pieces leftover in the fridge from the night before and they quietly munch away on them.

Matt can’t tell what Peter three doors down is watching, he can’t tell how many people are jogging by their window, and he definitely can’t tell where the smell of vanilla is wafting from.

The two of them fall asleep on Foggy’s bed and when they wake up in the morning they have a bit more of an understanding of each other.

~

It’s finals week and Matt doesn’t have time to smoke. He can’t let any possible studying time go to waste.

“Have you eaten at all this week?” Foggy asks him Thursday night, the night before their last final.

Matt pauses in the middle of his reading, keeps his fingers stationary on the page so he doesn’t lose his spot. He thinks and frowns.

“I think so,” he replies because he must have eaten something at some point. His stomach doesn’t hurt, doesn’t grumble, so he must have ingested toast or a muffin or something.

“You think so?” Foggy replies, doubt lacing his words.

Matt shrugs and returns to his book. He doesn’t have time. He hears Foggy sigh and then the rustling of papers and fabric as he gets up from the bed.

“C’mon, you need to eat something. I haven’t seen you touch food since Saturday which is not good.” Foggy starts rummaging through the mini fridge and adds, “I don’t even know how you’re still alive.”

“I’m not hungry,” Matt states, a little bit frustrated at why Foggy can’t just leave it alone.

Foggy sighs again and Matt pauses his fingers once more. He knows Foggy wants to say more, needs to say more, but hasn’t decided yet if he’s actually going to.

“You said,” Foggy begins and Matt reaches for a sticky flag to mark his place. “You said smoking helps you eat. Can you not eat without it?”

Matt freezes, fingers just about to wrap around the sticky flag holder on the bed, then forces himself to relax and grab it.

“It’s no big deal,” Matt says absentmindedly as he marks his place in the book, closes it and throws it next to him on the bed.

Matt never had been a very hungry child – he thinks maybe it’s a symptom of his childhood. His father barely had enough money to cover the rent, never mind food. They always had something in the house – canned ravioli or ichiban noodles - but some days they had to make the food last. That meant skipping meals or splitting a can of soup between two meals. Matt got used to eating little amounts of food. At the orphanage food was more readily available but there wasn’t always enough for all the kids. He didn’t skip as many meals there but would always forego in order for the sicker or younger children to get enough. By the time he was smoking he never truly felt hunger until he was high. Then he couldn’t get enough. Afterwards, he always felt so sick, bloated, but he figured things would balance out.

“Matt,” Foggy says, exasperated. “You don’t need to lie to me, man.”

“Look, I-“ and Matt doesn’t really know what to say. He plays with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t feel hungry unless I smoke. I know I should eat but I’m just never compelled to. Weed kind of kick starts the neurons in my brain or something.”

Foggy’s nodding like the world makes sense all of a sudden.

“Smoke, then.”

Matt is shaking his head.

“No, you don’t like the smell – I promised you I wouldn’t smoke in here. Plus, I need to study, can’t with a fuzzy head.”

Foggy sits down next to Matt, bumps their shoulders together, and Matt knows that Foggy is smiling softly.

“You’ve been studying straight since last week – I’m surprised you haven’t memorized half your texts by now. And,” Foggy adds, squeezes Matt’s knee comfortingly. “I’d rather you smoke and eat than starve yourself to death.”

“I can go outside,” Matt says dumbly and starts to stand up to do just that.

Foggy pulls him back down to the bed.

“Don’t be more of an idiot than you already are, Matt.”

Matt knows when he’s lost, despite the lawyer in him yelling ‘Murdock’s don’t give up that easily, you can come up with a counter argument’. But Matt is tired and he should eat something.

“Fine,” Matt gives in. “Just this once.”

“I think it may make me a horrible person to count forcing my best friend to get high as a win but I am.”

Matt grins.

“You’re the best friend I could ever have, Foggy.”

An hour later, they’re eating Chinese food hotly delivered only minutes before, and trying to come up with hilarious mnemonic devices for some of the tougher items they need to remember for the following day’s exam.

~

“Alright,” Foggy says as he enters their room, two years into law school. “Hit me with the good stuff.”

Matt swings around in the computer chair to face Foggy.

“Excuse me?”

“I dumped Marci so hit me with the good stuff.”

Matt’s brain stutters at Foggy’s words.

“You broke up with Marci? Why?”

Foggy is a whirlwind – his bag and shoes are been thrown in opposite directions and then he starts working on getting his jeans off. He’s swearing under his breath and Matt thinks he’s also shaking slightly.

“What happened, Foggy?”

Matt doesn’t dare get too close to Foggy for fear of getting whipped with his belt or something in his haste to get the jeans off.

“I don’t want to talk about it I just want to – Jesus fucking Christ in a Goddamn hole and if you,” Foggy turns to Matt, pointing a finger in his direction. “If you even so much as _think_ the word blasphemy I will shave your hair off while you sleep.”

Matt knows he would wake up long before Foggy gets the chance but he steadily does not think the word in case Foggy does turn out to be a mind reader.

“Alright,” Matt says hesitantly, not entirely sure if Foggy is asking for the really good weed stuff or the really good vodka stuff Matt has been hiding underneath his bed.

Foggy snaps his fingers after pulling on sweat pants.

“C’mon, Murdock, let’s get high.”

~

Foggy and Matt are lying in Matt’s bed, pressed against each other from shoulder to foot. The beds are really tiny.

“Foggy?” Matt asks quietly. He had been repeatedly shushed by Foggy for the past ten minutes any time he said something.

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

Foggy sighs and brings up his right hand, the one not trapped between their bodies, to rub at his face.

“I walked in on Marci and Peter.”

“Peter as in three doors down Peter?”

Matt feels Foggy’s left hand start to clench and grabs it with his own, threads their fingers and gives a slight squeeze. Foggy’s body minutely relaxes.

“Yeah. Three doors down Peter. They were getting very familiar in the oral sense.”

“Shit, man,” Matt offers empathetically.

“Yeah...” Foggy trails off and squeezes Matt’s hand back. “Thanks, man.”

“Whatever you need,” Matt replies wholeheartedly.

~

Matt stops smoking pot regularly once they graduate. They’re real adults now, they have a law firm to run, he has that whole vigilante thing going on. He still takes small hits a couple times a week to keep up his appetite, to keep some of his senses and overwhelming pain at bay, but there had been a time in their last year when he had been high every waking moment. He didn’t want to ever get back to that point.

Then, Foggy finds out he’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and Matt can see himself spiraling. It’s almost an out of body experience but one that doesn’t knock any sense into him.

“Matt?” Karen asks as she pops her head into his office. “You okay? You seem a bit out of it today.”

It’s two weeks after the fight between him and Foggy. They’ve vaguely talked about things – about moving forward into something new, something better Matt hopes. Foggy is back at work, doesn’t entirely avoid Matt anymore, and Matt supposes that’s the best he’s probably going to get for a long time.

“Yeah, sorry,” Matt offers a small smile. “Just tired.”

Karen nods and then hesitates.

“I’m heading off for the night, did you want to-“ She coughs nervously. “Did you want to grab a drink or something? I’m buying?”

Matt leans back in his chair and shakes his head.

“No thanks, Karen, not tonight. Maybe check with Foggy.”

Karen’s voice is still off, her body language still tense and paranoid. Matt wants to poke and prod until she spills but then that’s another friend he’ll lose and Matt doesn’t think could survive that.

“He can’t. Plans, he said, with Marci.”

Matt gives an understanding nod.

“Raincheck, then.”

Karen is already backing away, halfway to the front door, when she echoes his words. Then she’s gone and it’s just Matt and Foggy in the office. So close and yet miles apart. Matt thinks he’s going to tear his hair out if he sticks around any longer.

His shoulder bag is packed and his hand is touching the doorknob to the front, wondering if he could get away with smoking a joint in the shared bathroom down the hall, when Foggy calls his name.

“Yeah?” He asks, not turning around, not releasing his hold on the knob.

“Are you okay?”

Matt gives an empty laugh and finally let’s his hand lower to his side. He shrugs and doesn’t say anything. Neither does Foggy and it’s awkward for about thirty seconds.

“Well, you don’t want to be late for your date with Marci,” Matt offers and reaches again for the door knob.

“Right,” says Foggy rather weakly like he’d rather not remember that.

“See you.”

Matt escapes into the hallway and doesn’t care if anyone can smell the pot smoke. He ducks into the bathroom and lights up. He’s gone before Foggy has left the office.

~

He’s too high to go out and be Daredevil. Matt knows this with every fiber of his being. And yet here he is with his legs stuck in the bottom half of the suit, pulled up to mid thigh, in nothing else but briefs. He’s just sitting on his couch trying to convince himself not to go out. It’s only half working.

There’s a knock at his door and he listens. Foggy. He may be too high to be Daredevil but he’s definitely not high enough for what he thinks is coming.

Matt stands up and tries to take a step, forgets about the suit, and immediately falls to the ground with a rather loud thump.

“Matt?” calls Foggy through the door.

“I’m fine,” Matt replies and struggles with the suit on the ground. It’s like pleather or something and will not slip off easily. He growls and then gives up. “The door’s unlocked, just come in.”

He listens to the knob turn, the air pressure change as the door opens, and then hears Foggy’s steps pause as he obviously catches sight of Matt on the ground, tangled in the Daredevil costume.

“What the-?”

“Don’t ask,” Matt pleads before Foggy can get too far in his questioning.

The door shuts and Foggy is hurrying over to Matt.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Matt huffs and is pretty sure his chest, neck, and face are turning red.

“I’m stuck in the costume.” Maybe Matt pouts a bit, hopes the puppy dog look will get some sympathy from Foggy.

Foggy laughs at him. Matt crosses his arms and pouts some more.

“Alright, you big baby,” Foggy says affectionately and then moves to grab onto the ankles of the costume. “Let’s get this off you.”

He pulls one way and Matt tries to pull his legs the other without sliding across the hardwood floor. Together, with a bit of swearing, they manage to get the costume off of Matt.

“Thanks,” Matt says and gets up off the floor.

“No problem, now, go put some clothes on, nobody wants to see that.”

Matt does as he’s told, chuckling to himself as he goes, and comes back to find Foggy sitting on the couch. Foggy is sitting on the couch in front of the brand new coffee table which may or may not be covered in weed paraphernalia. Matt curses.

“You’ve been busy,” Foggy quietly says and there doesn’t seem to be much behind those words. No anger, no disappointment.

“Well,” Matt shrugs. “You know. Things have happened.”

“Is that why Daredevil hasn’t been spotted too much lately? Because you’re too high?”

Hole in one. Matt kind of hates that his best friend is a smart as fuck lawyer.

“At least I’m not going out there high?” Matt counters and takes a seat in one of the chairs, across from Foggy, away from the pot – disassociation.

“Miracle of miracles,” Foggy mutters and then sighs while leaning back into the couch.

“Look, Foggy,” Matt says, trying to maybe maneuver himself away from whatever conversation they’re going to have. “It’s no big deal, okay? It’s fine. _I’m_ fine, okay? So no need to worry.”

Foggy laughs, humorlessly, then leans forward to idly touch the rolling papers and the lighter sitting on the coffee table.

“Right, you’re just peachy. That’s why you haven’t been sober for the past week.”

“I just-I need to calm down, alright?” Matt holds his head in hands. “I need everything to calm down so I can think. I just need to focus.”

Foggy is silent as he runs a pineapple flavored paper through his index fingers and thumbs.

“Does it help?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it just makes things worse.” Matt doesn’t leave his bed when he has a bad trip.

“I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m not going to die out there-“

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Foggy crunches the paper in a fist. “I’m worried you’re going to lose yourself in all of this!”

Matt knows Foggy is gesturing towards the coffee table and Matt’s a bit confused.

“What? You’re worried about me smoking pot?”

Foggy is trying to smooth out the paper now.

“Look, I understood in college, I understand the eating thing but this.” Foggy shakes his head. “This is an addiction. This is you drowning yourself in it. It’s no different than the way Karen drowns herself in alcohol.”

“You noticed, too, huh?”

“Not the point, Matt.”

Matt knows it isn’t but it’s nice to deflect. It’s nice to know he’s not the only one losing it.

“I’m worried that this-” Matt motions to Foggy and himself. “-isn’t going to get better and it just helps me forget that one day you’re going to realize what’s going on and leave.”

Matt isn’t crying. He’s not going to cry. Maybe just a tear or two but no more. He scrunches his face up to hold it back and hears Foggy’s heart stutter.

“Stop it with the face, I don’t want to cry about this.” Foggy wipes a couple of his own stray tears away. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot. I just need time.”

“I know, I know,” and it’s almost a mantra to Matt. He knows but that doesn’t stop the voice in his brain, prodding, telling him that nothing’s going to get better. Foggy will leave and Matt will be left with no one. Again. As maybe it should be.

“Look, just, sober up, please? It’s not helping, trust me.”

Matt also knows this but doesn’t know if he can stop at this point.

“I’ll try,” he promises.

“And I’ll try my best to not be such a judgmental asshole, alright?”

Foggy always knew how to get a smile out of Matt and now isn’t any different.

“You’re not a judgmental asshole, you’re my best friend.”

Foggy chuckles and says, “Same thing, I think. Now, get over here for a hug.”

Matt makes his way to the couch, plops down beside Foggy and then he’s wrapped up in a huge bear hug.

“I’m not going anywhere, Matt, okay?” Foggy whispers in his ear and Matt nods.

“Me either,” he offers and it’s probably the best either of them are going to get right now.


End file.
